A Really Good Friend
by Victoria1127
Summary: Kurt gets beaten pretty badly.  Who will find him?  Warning:  Contains Violence


For Alli 

He cowered in the stairwell, shivering. His brand new Marc Jacobs jacket was torn in more places than he could count, his nose was gushing blood nonstop, and his white capri pants were stained with mud and his own blood. He'd be battling the urge to cry for the better part of an hour, and he was beginning to lose horribly. When he felt the first warm tear roll down his face, he finally let go and began to bawl, his shoulders shaking in defeat.

It had never been this bad before. He was walking down the hallway with Finn, when he remembered that he'd left his Algebra book in Mr. Lyons' class.

"Want me to go back with you?" Finn asked, undoubtedly thinking of last week when Azimio shoved Kurt against the lockers, earning Kurt some impressive big purple bruises on his shoulder.

"Finn, it's after school…nobody's even here anymore." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Go on home, I'll meet you there...be studying your irregular verbs. I know those are the tricky ones for you."

Finn's eyes lingered on Kurt for a moment as if trying to decide. The look Kurt gave him was enough to make him turn and head for his car.

Kurt was halfway to his car with his book when he felt someone grab the back of his jacket.

"This jacket is new; are you out of your mind?" He turned, expecting to see Mercedes' smirk or Puck raising an eyebrow, but instead he saw him.

They had never spoken (if muttering the word "fag" as he passed in the hallway didn't count), but Kurt avoided him at all costs. He'd heard the kinds of things he was into, and Kurt knew to be afraid of what he could do.

Now he knew firsthand.

He was being carried to the playground that sat on the very edge of campus, connecting the elementary school to the high school. Kurt vaguely remembered sitting on the fence watching everyone play—he had never been allowed to play because he had a problem with hair-pulling. He was dropped, _hard_, onto the dirt.

It started small. His book got ripped from his hands; pages of equations flew through the wind and Kurt couldn't say he cared very much, but acted horrified anyway. Then, he picked Kurt up by his shirt and punched him in the face.

_Fag. Fag. Fag. You're sick. You're so fucked up. You're gonna burn. Fag. You like this, fag?_

The bully's class ring caught Kurt's nostril, tearing it and dribbling blood down his front. He felt himself being beaten senseless by his textbook before he blacked out.

When he came to, the first thing he saw was his mangled jacket hanging on the fence. His entire body was throbbing. He tried to stand. His face was still bleeding terribly, and he gathered that he was bleeding other places too, judging from the clumped almost-dry blood on his pants. He felt a hole in the thigh of his capris and realized with some horror that he had be stabbed shallowly with something. He was very sore and felt like crying, but he wasn't going to give the bully—wherever he was now—the satisfaction.

He also realized that his iPod was in his hand. He looked down at it. It was practically in two pieces. Broken beyond repair. He put the ear buds into his ears anyway.

He limped slowly to the fence to get his jacket and winced as he put it on. _I just want to go home_, he thought to himself, reaching into his pocket for his keys.

His pocket was empty.

He willed himself to look across to the parking lot. His car was gone.

His lip quivered for a moment, threatening to break his thick charade of strength. He took a deep breath, considering his options. His phone was gone. His car was gone. Finn was gone. The football team would be there soon for practice and then he could see Finn, but he wasn't going to show up like this…not when the bully was on the football team.

He limped back to the building and pulled the door open. He remembered his gym clothes in his locker. As horrendous as they were, it was better than bloody, dirty, ruined clothes.

DIE FAGGOT

Red spray paint standing out against the tan lockers. Against his locker in particular. He no longer wanted to open his locker. He was feeling weak now, and thought about going to the nurse's office. He got to the stairwell when he realized with some shame that he couldn't possibly make it up the stairs to see the nurse. He sighed, defeated, and finally sat on the landing of the stairs, shivering.

And that's where he was now, pouring out his soul through his tears, wailing in purest sorrow. He couldn't stop bleeding and was feeling lightheaded. He heard the door swing open, and couldn't bring himself to give a fuck if anyone saw him at this point.

"Kurt?"

Kurt looked up. Sam Everett. He was on the football team, but Kurt had never had the pleasure of exchanging words with him. Kurt was actually kind of surprised that Sam even knew his name.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Kurt snorted. "Is it not obvious?"

Sam crouched in front of him and reached out to wipe a tear from Kurt's face. Kurt shrank back. "Shh…it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just wiping your face."

"I don't need your help!" Kurt insisted indignantly, beginning to stand.

He couldn't. He had been huddled on the floor for over an hour, and his legs didn't want to work. Sam cast a worried look on him for a millisecond before swiftly scooping Kurt into his arms. "I'll take you to your car."

Kurt's heart sank. "Uhm…my car got stolen."

"Oh." Sam kept walking.

"Where are we going?"

"My car."

Kurt looked up at this strange knight in shining armor. "But…you have football practice."

"I won't play for shit anyway, thinking of you sitting in the stairwell crying and bleeding."

"You'd…be thinking of me?"

Sam studied Kurt's face, covered in blood except for where his tears had washed some away. "Kurt," he said softly, "how could I not?"

He eased Kurt into his car and drove him home. Kurt didn't have to tell him where his house was.

"KURT!" Burt ran to the door when Sam knocked, Kurt balanced on his hip like a child. "Who did this to you?" he asked, eyeing Sam warily.

"I just found him in the stairwell like this. His car and phone have been stolen, his iPod broken, and he's gotten the shit beat out of him pretty badly."

"I'm not going to work. We're gonna go report this."

"Dad…" Kurt looked at his father pleadingly. His eyelids were drooping and Sam knew he had to be tired.

"Mr. Hummel?"

Burt looked up from his injured son. "You can go now. Thank you for bringing him home."

"Oh. Um, yes sir. No problem."

"Dad…I really don't feel like dealing with this right now. You need to go to work."

"I'm not leaving you here alone. I have to take care of you."

"Mr. Hummel? I don't mind staying with Kurt until you get back."

Kurt's eyes widened. Burt looked back and forth between the two boys. "Are you okay with that, kid?"

"Are you sure, Sam?"

Sam grabbed Kurt's hand and smiled. "Anything for a friend. I'm already skipping practice; I might as well look after you and get you cleaned up."

Kurt smiled gratefully. Burt nodded. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Sam walked Kurt to the bathroom. "You need a bath…"

"I know."

"Do you, um…"

"I think I can handle it. Could you just wait outside a minute in case I need anything?" Kurt hoped he wouldn't, but he had to be careful. He was still wobbly on his legs and very lightheaded.

Sam sat outside the bathroom, waiting to be called at any moment to do anything Kurt asked. He didn't know why he felt so close to Kurt, but he did. Yes, Sam had known he was gay for a long time, but he wasn't out, and these kinds of incidents reminded him of what a coward he was. Kurt lived every day knowing this could happen and he came out anyway. He could hear Kurt's soft little sobs coming from the bathroom, no doubt from the sting of the warm water against his wounds or maybe the sting of being so physically weak. Sam's heart hurt for him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm right here!"

"Could you go into my dad's room and get me some pajamas? The second door on your right. They're in the top shelf. The green ones."

"Of course."

Sam got up and found the room. The walls were a dark golden color. He went around the bed to the chest of drawers and retrieved the pajamas, but paused for a moment to look at the pictures on the top. There were the expected pictures: a wedding photo, Mr. Hummel holding up a big fish, various school pictures of Kurt. His eyes stopped on one in particular.

It was of a woman with strawberry blonde hair, her head thrown back in laughter. She was sitting in a hideous paisley-print chair, holding a little boy in her lap. Kurt.

He couldn't have been older than four years old. He was wearing a purple tutu with brown cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. He was giggling and hugging his mother. There was so much joy encompassed there, Sam could almost feel Burt smiling as he took the picture. It struck him how much Kurt's life had changed since the picture was taken. Rage bubbled inside of him as he thought about how much Kurt had been put through without getting beaten and he wanted to go straight to the perpetrator's house and give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Sam?" He heard faintly.

"Coming!" Sam hurried out of the room and knocked on the bathroom door. "I have the pajamas."

"I…" Kurt grunted, then sighed in defeat. "I need help getting out of the tub."

Sam gently eased the door open, being careful not to look at Kurt. "Where are the towels?"

"In the cabinet closest to the door."

Sam grabbed a big white towel and spread it wide, turning to Kurt with it stretched in front of him. "Did you drain the water from the tub?"

Kurt looked confused. He couldn't see Sam from the waist up. "Yes."

Sam draped the towel onto Kurt's body, covering him. Then, he lifted Kurt into a standing position. "You got it from here?"

"Yeah, I think so. Thanks."

Sam looked at Kurt's clean face now. He had several dark bruises and a cut on his lip. His nose was the worst—his left nostril had a pretty big chunk out of it, but it looked to be healing. "Does it hurt?"

"A little. I'm mostly just really sore…my legs are really weak."

They stood there in silence for a few seconds. Finally, Sam cleared his throat. "Your pajamas are on the sink. I'm going to fix you a bed on the couch and put in a movie. Sound good?"

Kurt nodded. "Sure."

Sam loaded the couch with blankets and pillows and then went to the kitchen to fix Kurt a bowl of ice cream. Ice cream always made Sam feel better, and he hoped it would help Kurt, too. Kurt still couldn't quite fathom why Sam was doing all of this for someone he barely knew. Kurt came out of the bathroom in oversized pajamas, still limping.

"I made you a bowl of ice cream. I picked out several movies from the ones on the shelf; we can watch whatever you want."

"Can we just talk? Or would that be weird?"

"Um…" Sam watched Kurt as he lowered himself onto the couch and snuggled under the covers. He handed him his ice cream and felt a little proud as Kurt put a big spoonful in his mouth and smiled. "Sure. We can talk."

Kurt tried to lift his legs off of the couch to give Sam a place to sit, but he couldn't keep them up long enough to allow for him to slide in. After a few seconds of thinking, he sat up and let Sam sit down at the other end, gently resting his head in his lap.

"So," Kurt said between mouthfuls of ice cream, "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I saw you on the stairs and I knew you needed help."

"Well, yeah, that makes sense…but you didn't have to skip football practice. Or stay with me while my dad works. Or listen to me take a bath to make sure I was okay. Or make me a bowl of ice cream. I mean, we've never really spoken to each other before today."

"I don't really know how to explain it." Sam cleared his throat, but it did nothing to help. "I…I'm…well…"

"You don't have to say anything you don't want to say."

"No, I need to say this." He had Kurt's full attention now. "I see what you go through every day, and it scares the shit out of me. The names, being pushed and shoved, having your things stolen, being laughed at, being treated less than human, and it scares me…" His voice trailed off, trying to build his courage to utter the words he'd been wanting to say ever since he was in middle school. "It scares me because I-I'm gay too."

Kurt sat up suddenly and opened his mouth to speak, but Sam quickly continued, "And I think you are so brave for going through all those things, but I'm just not ready. And when I saw you in the stairwell in your condition, I was just thinking about how you were so crazy strong because even though you were sitting there crying, I know if I were in that situation I would be shitting my pants or just laying there feeling sorry for myself and I just admire you so much, Kurt. You're everything I wish I could be."

Kurt stared at Sam for a long moment before gently kissing him. Sam could taste the salty cut on Kurt's lip and he wrapped his arms around his thin body, trying to memorize how it feels to be made of steel like Kurt was. Kurt laid his head back in Sam's lap and held his hand. "Thank you so much, Sam." He whispered before drifting off to sleep.

Sam smiled down at him before falling asleep himself. Burt came back around 9 and woke Sam up and sent him home. He turned to Kurt.

"Who was that guy?"

Kurt remembered the conversation the two of them had earlier and smiled to himself. "A friend. A really good friend."


End file.
